


riverbank

by CasualMaraudering



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_drizzle, Entirely Fueled by Taylor Swift's folklore, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Gay Sirius Black, Getting Together, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Orion Black's A+ Parenting, Sort of Abusive Family, Strangers to Lovers, Trans Remus Lupin, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasualMaraudering/pseuds/CasualMaraudering
Summary: While looking for an escape from his broken family, Sirius finds the riverbank. And a boy with pink hair.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 163
Collections: HP Drizzle Fest 2020





	riverbank

**Author's Note:**

> i've listened to folklore on repeat every day and you can very clearly tell from the nature of this fic, so strap in and enjoy <3

Rain pours, and glass shatters on the kitchen tiles. Likely a wine glass. Perhaps dad’s glasses. Though they wouldn’t make quite a _dramatic_ sound, no. It would be more of a thud rather than the high pitched clink of the breaking. Dad’s glasses are mostly metal, anyway. Not much to break, no way to channel anger - what would even be the point?

Sirius filters out the words - there’s no desire to hear the things being thrown around back there. The accusations, the lies, the insults. He’s heard it all hundreds of times. The rain, the crickets, yet another glass being thrown at the ground, mum’s sobbing. Same old.

He meets his brother in the music room, like always. There’s not a word spoken between them as they leave out the back and follow the familiar path through the town. A comforting silence settles between them. There’s never a need to speak, not with Reg. Not when they walk. It’s part of the routine, by now.

The silence is cleansing, and the night is calming. It lets them both breathe. They can leave the bores and nightmares of everyday life behind. No screams, no shattering wine glasses, no crying. It’s calm and quiet and alone. Sirius, Reg, and the empty night.

They walk to a park, as far from the house as the bounders of the small town they live in allow them to. Sirius wouldn’t even call it a park - a forest, more like. There’s barely a path to follow - the place had been abandoned for a while. The benches, the lampposts, even the swings are covered in shrubbery, top to bottom. Sirius had been enamoured ever since they first stumbled upon it. There’s certain beauty he finds in overgrown gardens, thick forests, nature doing what it does best. He’s always been an outdoors kind of person.

Reg, on the other hand, is not. Sirius could always find him in the small library in their house, hunched over one book or another, surrounded by stacks of old tomes, notebooks, pencils, and various stationary items. He had always been a scholar. Ever since they were young children, Reg seeked out knowledge as if he knew it was his call in life. Most comfortable with his nose in a book, since the moment he learned how to read.

Sirius never had that much interest in any sort of literature. Sometimes he’d seek out a book - particularly if Reg said it’d be to his liking - but more often than not, he’s not one for consistent hobbies, reading being amongst the plethora of things he was fast to abandon. Seems like all his life, he could never really find something that sparked his interest enough to continue. He tried music, he tried art, he tried sports - there was crocheting, cooking, physics, writing, gardening - you name it. There’s not much he hasn’t tried. _Always undecided,_ mum keeps saying. _Not knowing what to do with his life. Wasting his young years._

He wishes she understood things aren’t so easy.

The night, though - it makes him feel things are, for once, _easy._ He’s free to do whatever he wishes, with no eyes on him, no expectations on his shoulders. No prodigy little brother to live up to. No mum with sad eyes and unspoken disappointment. No dad who’s never there anyway. The world lets him live for once, when night falls. No one to judge him but the stars, and the moon.

It’s a simple coincidence that him and Reg go out at night. It just happens that’s when dad comes home - _if_ he comes home - and when the calm, almost warm and kind atmosphere of _home_ fades away. It’s when mum always cries, and Sirius doesn’t know if he should say a word. He’s been alive for more than twenty years now, witnessed this ever since he was a small boy, and it’s always gone by as an unspoken truth. Something that is never to be talked about. Something that doesn’t exist outside the realm of when it does. Tension always fades in the morning, with coffee and toast and lies of everyone pretending their family is doing good.

But there’s time til the morning. Plenty of it. So Sirius doesn’t worry about the daylight until he has to. Instead, he breathes in the fresh, night air - how crisp it feels in his lungs, how fresh it is with recent rainfall. He listens to the sounds of the night - the crickets, the shrubbery moving with the slightest breeze in the air, the occasional odd noise that might be creepy to some but is simply endearing to Sirius.

It’s the best escape from reality he has. And the only thing that’s really fun anymore.

Only thanks to Reg, though. There’s comfort to his heart when Sirius watches him, setting down a blanket below a tree, pulling out a book from his bag, as he always does. Even if they sit in silence, Sirius loves the company and the comfort it holds within it.

There’s certain irony to him. He thrives with people - the people he has, he loves deep and hard. But he’s never had many friends. Or… any friends at all. Aside Reg, there’s never been anyone. He’s had a sheltered, lonely life. Reg had been there from the beginning, though, and they’ve kept close. Playing in the sandbox as kids, going to the same school and picking the same classes, Sirius picking up Reg from university every day, running off when their parents fight. They’re together, always. Ever since birth.

With Reg, Sirius can pretend his life is fine. That his worries don’t exist, that mum and dad are still in love, that there’s sense to Sirius being here. Reg just… makes it work out, simply by being.

“You’re quiet.”

Sirius simply plays with a droplet of rain on a leaf just next to his knee.

“Just thinking.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

He smiles, letting the drop of water fall down his finger, and soak into the dirt, then doing just the same to another little speck of rainfall.

“We should go on a road trip,” he finds himself saying. He hears the rustling of a page being turned.

“Road trip?”

“Yes. We can drive north, to one of the bigger towns, find some fun stuff to do. Get out of here for a few days.”

“Few _days?”_

“It’s summer, Reg. We should take advantage of it. Mum won’t mind, ‘s long we bring her back something nice. A poetry book, perhaps? There’s bound to be vintage stores in bigger towns. You can find more books, I can hopefully find something French for mum. We can stop by some museums, too, even. You like those.”

Rustling of another page. Sirius had always found it amazing that Reg can focus on two things at once. Sirius would just get confused and not register anything he’d be reading.

“Why, though?”

He shrugs, even if he knows Reg isn’t looking. “Why not?”

There’s silence for a moment -another rustling of a page, three more droplets of rain, the crinkling of leaves above their heads. Sirius finds himself lying down, staring at the sky - or what’s visible from beyond the crown of the trees, anyway. He thinks it makes it more beautiful.

“I’m booking where we stay. I don’t trust you to even remember the address.”

Sirius smiles, and counts the stars.

They drive up the main road, to the town. They browse antique stores, bookshops, museums. Sirius makes fun of paintings in the gallery, Reg stops by Starbucks to get a chai latte at least ten times a day. They load their car with so many books they don’t fit into the trunk (it’s dad’s credit card, so they don’t mind spending so much money). They sleep in a hotel with the most hideous orange walls Sirius had ever laid his eyes on. Sirius gets hit on by a woman in the art gallery, awkwardly declines, and spends the rest of the day being mocked by Reg about his choice of words. Sirius buys a ring that he’s sure is somewhat haunted or cursed. Driving back, they sing along to their favourite songs.

They’re back at home late at night, bubbling with laughter and new, good memories. They talk late into the night and both fall asleep in Reg’s bedroom; Sirius on the foot of the bed, and Reg on the floor.

Sirius wakes up refreshed and happy, even with his neck throbbing in pain, and Reg complaining about his hurting spine. He sings in the shower, lets his hair air dry, and wears his favourite t-shirt.

Going down for breakfast, he feels great.

He’s in the midst of buttering his toast when Reg’s phone rings.

Dad doesn’t look up from the paper - as usual, not saying a word about anything. Mum shoos Reg out into the hallway, saying it’s impolite to talk on the phone over a meal.

Sirius rolls his eyes with a smile - she’s always trying so hard to be perfectly polite. Hence why Sirius learned to never rest his elbows on the table, or only put the fork on the left side of the plate. She always fusses about his clothes, too, but had long given up on trying to have him change into something ‘more suitable’. Nowadays, she just shakes his head whenever he happens to wear Reg’s university hoodie.

Reg doesn’t come back for several minutes, which should’ve been the first sign that something is off. He’s not one for people, and definitely not one for phone conversations. Sirius is lucky if Reg texts him back after a few hours, yet alone talking on the phone for longer than absolutely necessary. But Sirius is in a good mood, and so he doesn’t pick up on the cue. He simply puts far too much jam on his toast, and steals about a dozen of strawberries from the fruit bowl.

Reg is back only after Sirius had almost finished his coffee, dad left for work (or wherever he goes. It’s not like he even says _anything_ anymore) and mum scolded Sirius on having his legs crossed when sitting down for a meal (entirely inappropriate, according to her).

He doesn’t sit back down, though. Just stands in the dining room awkwardly, staring at his phone.

“Regulus, for the love of God, please spit it out. It can’t be this bad,” mum says loudly, glaring at Reg.

Reg, for once in his life, seems truly at a loss for words. Sirius finds it hard to breathe, for some reason.

“Uncle Al called,” Reg begins, clearly putting a lot of caution in choosing his words. “He-... apparently, he got in touch with this… this one university nearby his place. It’s top notch, one of the best in Europe, he says. And… he says he got me a place. To study. ‘til I get my Master’s.”

Sirius definitely cannot breathe.

Mum is saying something, he thinks - but Sirius’s heartbeat is far too loud to comprehend what exactly is it that she’s saying. There’s this loud drumming in his head, all around, and his stomach is clenching. It’s like that one time he almost drowned when he was ten. Except without a reason this time. It’s as if he’s drowning in the words Reg had just said.

“You’re leaving,” he finds himself choking out, turning to his brother. He’s not usually one to show much emotion (Sirius reckons he got that after dad), but this time, Sirius can see the clear uneasiness in his features. “You’re going to France. For what, five years?”

“Sirius, I-I-”

“Excuse me,” Sirius mutters out before he abruptly stands up and leaves the dining hall. He barely remembers to put his shoes on before he leaves the house. His legs lead the way - his mind is far too clouded, chest too heavy, heart pounding just too loud for him to think. His hair is still wet. He doesn’t even have a jacket on.

It’s as if time skipped forward, and he finds himself in the old park, sitting where he always does. Alone, though.

They’ve been here just a few days ago, right before their trip. Left in the middle of the night as always, just to get a little bit of calm, a little bit of normality. And that’s how it’s always been. What’s he going to do now that Reg won’t be here? Stay at home whenever mum and dad fight? Just pretend he’s not hearing anything, ignoring the painful ache in his heart and tears in his eyes and wishful thinking and old memories?

The park is different in the day. Noisy. Bright. Shimmering with life, and bugs, and birds. It’s overbearing.

It’s not right anymore.

The airport is filled with people. There’s loud chatter, businessmen talking on the phone, clunking suitcase wheels, crying children, giggling girls, sleeping travellers. Sirius despises it.

Still, he holds onto one of Reg’s bags, dutifully following him to check them in, then to find out where he needs to be. He calls Uncle Al once more to make sure he’s going to be waiting at the airport when the flight lands. He does everything he needs to to take his mind off of this.

Sirius finds he doesn’t know what to say for the first time. So he says nothing. Nothing at all. Not until Reg has to go.

At home, he promised himself he won’t cry. Not in front of his little brother. So he takes a deep breath, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t get into trouble, okay?”

“I’m not you,” Reg says with a small smile on his face. Not a nice one, by any means. Sirius reckons he’s got the same expression on, though.

“Still. Gotta make sure you’ll behave. I’m older, ‘s my job.”

“You’re older by ten minutes.”

“Eleven. And that means you’re still my little brother.”

Something hits Sirius when Reg turns around to look at one of the clocks at the airport. Like a knife struck right at whatever organ contains his emotions, and it burst as if it was a little balloon full of water.

“I have to-”

Sirius pulls him in, burying his face in Reg’s shoulder. He feels his eyes itch, but blinks the tears away. Some fall anyway, once he can feel Reg’s arms embracing him tightly.

“Call me, okay?” Sirius says quietly, trying not to pay attention to anyone around them. “Every other day, at least.”

“I’ll call every day. I swear.”

They stay embraced for a few seconds. Or maybe minutes - Sirius doesn’t know. Once they do pull apart, it’s not by much. Just enough to look each other in the eye.

“Don’t- don’t stay home, okay? Go out.”

“So someone can mug me cause I’m alone?” Sirius finds himself saying, despite the tug at his heart and his mind screaming at him to somehow convince Reg to stay, or to go with him.

Reg, chokes out a laugh. “Honestly. Don’t just stay in and hurt because I’m not there. I’m serious.”

“That one’s me,” Sirius says, blinking away tear after tear. “I’ll be fine, okay? Don’t worry about me. ‘m used to it anyway. You just- get good grades. Study a lot. Make some friends. Find a girl, maybe. Don’t have too much fun, though. Don’t think I’m ready to change nappies just yet.”

Reg rolls his eyes, and finally pulls away completely. Sirius’s stomach ties into a knot, and there’s a feeling in his chest as if someone dropped a bucket of cold water right on his head.

“I’ll call,” Reg says again. “Keep safe.”

“You too,” Sirius chokes out.

“I’ll see you in December”

A few more heartbeats of silence. And then Reg turns, walks away. Walks through the security gate.

“I’ll miss you,” Sirius whispers to no one. Right before Reg disappears out of his sight, and right before the first of tens of tears rolls down his cheek.

And so he’s alone.

Days pass in boredom. It’s both fast, and yet, at the same time, agonizingly slow. He can’t tell what day of the week it is, how many nights have passed exactly since Reg left, or even what he’s been doing. It all morphs together, as if one identical day, just played over and over. Only staring at the ceiling, scrolling through his phone, sleeping. Day, after day, after day. Just hours full of nothing.

The repetitive spell breaks along a wine glass in the kitchen, and voices spiking louder and louder. It’s been years since his parents made him feel quite so lonely.

He used to be afraid. Who wouldn’t? He’d hide in the bathroom and cry, squeezing his ears shut, praying to no one for this to stop. All he’s ever wanted was normality. Comfort. Love.

As years passed, it stopped being scary. It made him angry in his teens - he’d lash out at his dad, get punished in return, by mum of all people. Sirius never put it against her, though; she’s living in a web of her own lies, pretending life is something it isn’t. Sirius reckons she doesn’t love dad anymore, and hasn’t in a while. It’s just been too long to do anything about it.

And it’s been so long that Sirius is so painfully indifferent to it all now. It’s part of life, just like breakfast every morning, or tying his hair so it doesn’t get in the way and mum hating it down, or taking photos of flowers he finds whenever he goes out. An inevitable, unchangeable part of life. The sun goes down. The moon rises. People fight, and scream, and hate. Children hurt and run.

It’s day thirteen, he finds, and he’s outside.

The night is dark, and the moon shines in full. Sirius always found it beautiful. More than the stars and constellations -those are far, and distant. The moon is here, all on its own. Looking at stars that are hundreds light years away. Yearning in solitude. For someone named after a star, Sirius never found himself belonging. He’s always been more drawn to the moon.

He doesn’t go to the creek, not anymore. The wound had no time to close - this would just spray salt all over it.

Instead, he goes towards the moon. Staring up at the sky, hands in his pockets, surrounded by the bliss of silence and pain of solitude. With no destination in mind.

He passes houses, lampposts, rain puddles. He turns right at the corner of the street, away from the small cafe (the only decent place in the small town - with the best salty caramel latte Sirius has ever had), and away from the playground. He makes a left, and then a right again. Slips into a puddle, gets one of his shoes wet. Walks away from the town, forward until it’s forgotten behind him. Reaches the river, and goes along with it.

He’s not sure how long he’s been walking for - enough he’s somewhere he’s never been before, somehow. Twenty something years, and yet he’s never wandered towards the river. Mum used to scare him and Reg - children go here and never return. _“Full of whirlpools and with a current too fast to let you swim to shore. If you fall in, you’re as good as gone.”_

Sirius finds it charming, though. The water seems calm enough - reflecting the moonlight, sparkling in the glow. It’s different from the creek. It’s open, it’s bright. It’s new. He takes a deep breath - the air is new, too. He could get used to it, maybe. And perhaps he could get used to being alone.

He walks just a few steps before coming to a halt, breath catching in his throat. He sees a person, lying on the ground. Sirius doesn’t move. Barely even breathes. He doesn’t want to startle _him._

The stranger is either sound asleep, or deep in thought - with his eyes closed, and bulky headphones on his head. Completely unaware of the world. Sirius’s heart beats faster, though he’s not sure why.

Slowly, as if not to startle, he takes a step back - then another, and another. Only once a safer distance away does he turn his back on the stranger, and walks away, taking the same path he did before.

The journey back is quicker, he finds. In no time, he’s home - a blissfully quiet home, with only a few shards of glass on the floor. He sheds his clothes, gets into bed, falls into sleep.

He dreams of the river.

Sirius is back at the river three days later. And then five days after that. And then the next day, too. Every time, the boy is there. Always with the headphones, his eyes closed, drifted away into whatever land he’s thinking of.

He never plans to go back, and yet, he always does. Even now, slipping away from his house, he knows his subconscious will lead him back again. He’s not sure why. Maybe he’s just that desperate for someone to talk to.

It’s not as if Sirius plans on talking to him, no. He’s just a part of the landscape that Sirius happened to stumble upon, is all. He’s not to be disturbed, nor approached. Like a wild animal - Sirius admires from afar, but keeps a safe distance.

But today is a little different.

Tonight, when Sirius follows the now familiar path alongside the river, the boy isn’t lying on the grass like he always is. He’s sitting, cross legged, arms supporting him behind him, staring off into nowhere. No headphones in sight.

And when Sirius is close enough, he turns his head towards him. And looks right at him.

Sirius stops in his tracks, eyes fixed at the stranger, heart hammering against his ribs like an old, dusty xylophone, playing a tune too fast to follow. Sirius readies explanations, words and paragraphs of why he’s here, what he’s doing.

But the boy doesn’t ask. He simply turns back to gaze at the river.

Sirius keeps standing where he is. Looking. He waits a heartbeat, two, three. Twenty two, twenty three. Thirty five, and steps forward.

By fifty six, he sits down next to the boy, careful not to startle. Though the boy doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest, not moving even by a bit.

“No headphones today?” Sirius finds himself saying, shamelessly letting his eyes wander, detailing every part of the boy’s appearance.

Head full of curls, longer at the top and shaved short at the sides, dyed pink (or so Sirius thinks, anyway - the dark of the night makes it a bit difficult to distinguish colours). Round, big glasses. Two big scars on the side of his jaw. A black sweatshirt with red roses on the sleeves. The slightest smile to his lips.

“Forgot them today. It’s just the crickets playing for me, I guess.”

His voice is warm. Slightly higher in tone than Sirius would’ve guessed (it isn’t like he thought about it. Not _that_ much, in any case), but pleasant nonetheless. Sirius reckons they must be similar in age, maybe with just a couple years of difference.

Sirius finds, for once, he’s unsure what to say. Rightfully, he didn’t take the boy for a talkative type - there’s not a word exchanged between them for minutes, with him staring off into nothingness of the night, and Sirius playing with the cuff of his jacket.

“What’s your name?” Sirius asks awkwardly, glancing out of the corner of his eye.

The boy doesn’t even flinch at the break of silence. “You expect me to tell you?”

“Well… yes.”

He doesn’t reply - instead, he reaches into his bag (one Sirius didn’t even notice beforehand) - and pulls out a book. He opens it in the place of the bookmark, digs again to find a tiny torch, and clicks it on. It emirates a soft, blue light. With that, he starts reading - Sirius seems long forgotten.

“So you’re not gonna tell me your name?”

“I don’t know you.”

“But-”

He turns towards Sirius, annoyance painted on his features.

“If you’re gonna talk, piss off,” he gestures towards the book. “I’m busy.”

Sirius can only nod. The stranger goes back to reading. As if Sirius isn’t there.

For the longest time, Sirius isn’t sure what to do. He doesn’t know what he expected out of starting a conversation with this random boy sitting in the middle of nowhere next to a river… but it wasn’t _that._ He hoped for an actual conversation. A reason why he’s here. A name, at least.

But then, he hasn’t been completely rejected either, has he? As long as he’s quiet.

And so Sirius does what he would in the creek. He lays down, stares at the sky, and counts the stars. Daydreams. Thinks. Wonders about the pink haired boy and his book.

When the boy packs up his book, Sirius is startled, and quickly goes to stand up. But before he can - he’s dismissed with a wave of a hand. Before he can even ask, the boy is up, and leaving. The other way Sirius walks.

“See you around,” Sirius says, more to himself rather than the boy. He really needs a name.

When Sirius is back at home, and finally in bed, the sun is already peeking from the horizon. He has only a few hours to sleep. And he can only hope the boy with the pink hair will stay out of his dreams this time.

The house is oddly calm for a whole week. Sirius feels as if he’s walking on eggshells, or disarming a bomb, one step from explosion. It takes eight days for it to blow - over some woman and poker, Sirius overhears before leaving. As if the reason is important. They’ll always find something anyway.

The pink haired boy is there again - though, Sirius doesn’t find that particularly surprising. This time with his headphones, lying in the grass like always, unaware Sirius is approaching.

Sirius walks slowly and with care. Once he sits down, the boy opens an eye. All he does is glances at Sirius, and then his eyes are closed again, and he’s back to his daydreams.

It’s the full moon again. Just like the first time Sirius had stumbled here. And so the night is bright with moonlight, shining upon everything. The boy’s hair, his glasses. The freckles on his nose, which Sirius hadn’t noticed until now. It’s as if being in the moonlight is his natural state.

As before, they don’t talk. Not even a word is exchanged. And yet, Sirius finds comfort in it. He missed just having a presence of someone next to him.

Once again, they part shortly before sunrise. The moonlight is almost gone, leaving together with the mysterious boy.

“Moonlight,” Sirius is saying, to no one but himself. “Moony.”

There’s comfort to sitting with someone in silence that Sirius finds enjoyable. Not quite friendship, but there is a bond forming. A very particular kind of bond, so common in everyday life. Like two strangers who sit next to each other on the morning bus, never exchanging pleasantries yet knowing exactly who the other is. A pair of students in the library, in an unspoken agreement that if one is to leave to get coffee, the other will watch their books. Two little kids who speak different languages, yet still manage to play together in the sandbox.

And now Sirius and Moony, at the riverbank, every other night. Moony with a book, headphones around his neck, glasses just slightly slipping off his nose.

“What are you reading?” Sirius asks once, taking care to speak softly. He wouldn’t want to ruin the serenity of the night. Moony lifts his eyes, for just a moment. Sirius smiles. There’s so many things he’d like to know about this boy. So many questions he’s yearning to know the answers to, so many faces he wishes to see. It feels like a puzzle he’s meant to put together. One little piece at a time.

“Pride and Prejudice.”

An old love story. Changing perceptions, quitting first opinions. Two people falling in love against the odds and against their own wishes. Sirius finds the story comforting. There’s hope for love even in the most unexpected places.

“Who’s your favourite?”

Moony lowers the book to rest on his knees. “You’ve read it?”

Sirius is nodding, looking away at the river. “My brother loves it, so I read it cause of him. Elizabeth must be my favourite literary character. Not that I’ve read that many books. But I enjoyed her a lot.”

The water glistening in the gentle moonlight seems to be shining brighter tonight, somehow. Sirius is fixated on the way it shimmers. He doesn’t expect an answer, or a conversation.

And yet, there’s shuffling to his side. Once he glances, Moony has put the book and torch back into his bag, and laid down on the grass.

“I enjoy Mr Darcy,” he says, eyes tracing star after star. “There’s just something special about his character arc. For once you have a man learning from his mistakes and turning from arrogance to humility, all out of strong love for this one woman. It’s a common trope - changing for love, all that, and yet… it’s just special in this case, somehow. I can’t really explain it.”

Sirius finds himself nodding, his eyes fixed on Moony, with a soft smile ever-present on his face. There’s a warmth spreading slowly across his body at that. He expected a cold shoulder.

“So you’re rereading it?”

“I often do.”

“Any others you like as much as this one?”

Moony glances at him, the corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. Sirius bites the inside of his cheek - he doesn’t let himself dwell on how it makes him feel. He’s not sure if he’s quite ready for deep thoughts. Not anytime soon, anyway.

“A few. Doubt you’ve heard of them, though.”

Sirius leans back and lies down on the grass, arms behind his head and eyes studying the stars.

“Try me.”

After that night, things shift. They end up talking more. Not all night long; not even more than a few sentences each at the time, sometimes. But there’s words suspended in the air around them now. Sirius no longer hesitates to speak what he thinks - he comments on the world around them, the weather, anything his mind gives.

Moony isn’t much of a talker, usually. He drops a word here, a comment there. Not more than that, though. Sometimes he doesn’t talk at all, seemingly not even listening to a word Sirius is saying.

Sirius doesn’t mind though. Where most would be upset, or offended, he is not. He doesn’t miss the small smile Moony has on his face whenever Sirius babbles about the most random things. Or how, sometimes, he’ll be stuck on the same page of his book for an hour, pretending to be reading. His brother is just the same.

He's been speaking with Reg every day, just like promised. At times - which is, in truth, more often than not - there's not much to talk of at all. But they don't mind. They simply sit in silence sometimes, just as if they're together. Reg with a book, Sirius with whatever happens to strike his fancy.

He ends up walking through the town once.

Reg - for once being the one to talk - is rambling in his ear about an unbelievably pointless professor of his that he absolutely despises. Sirius is hardly surprised - with Reg being mostly self taught in all areas, he’s always had a hard time finding teachers that fully took advantage of the potential he has and actually made classes challenging for him. He’s got a bright future ahead of him, Sirius thinks, eyeing shop displays. There’s pride swelling in his chest, and a smile on his face. He’s always been proud of his brother.

There’s not many stores in their town - it’s not a big place, after all. Just a handful of supermarkets, a bookshop, a few trinket stores. One of the latter ones is Sirius’s absolute favourite place to be in if he has to be in town. It’s full of antique items, hand me downs, bizarre little figurines. Everything that doesn’t quite have its own category. Junk, Reg would call it.

Today, there’s a ball of yarn in a box next to the display.

Sirius picked up knitting a couple winters ago. He's never learned to make anything exceptionally complicated - a bunch of scarves is all he managed to produce; it's always just been something he kept himself mindlessly busy with. It occupied him for a few months at best; after that, the needles, the leftover yarn, and his mediocre (at best) creations were thrown into a box, and then stored in the closet to catch dust. Sirius never found himself wanting to dig it out again.

The yarn is pink, though. Baby pink, barely there. A very subtle, gentle shade. It makes him go back to every night at the river; to soft smiles, Jane Austen, round glasses, and pink curls.

He buys a few balls of the yarn, says goodbye to Reg, goes home. He pulls everything out of his closet, and finds things he didn’t even remember he had: a set of drumsticks, a bike helmet (he hasn’t even fixed his bike yet - it’s still in the garage, just as broken as at the time Sirius bought it), several vinyls, a pair of roller skates. Under several more boxes, there’s a smaller one, with something poking out. Just the way he left them, there’s a pair of knitting needles stuck in a ball of yarn (a hideous shade of yellow - Sirius isn’t sure what possessed him to buy it).

He watches a couple videos, does several practice stitches, fucks up more than a couple times, then turns on an episode of some random cooking competition. And he knits.

Within two weeks, there’s a scarf.

The first few rows could be better. There’s a few looser stitches here and there. The end is just a little bit wrong because he’s completely forgotten how to finish one off. It’s probably far too long. But there is a finished scarf. It’s soft, surprisingly fluffy, and it’s not _bad._ Sirius is pleased with it.

He can only hope so will be Moony.

Sirius decides to give it to him on his own birthday. Well… Sirius and Reg’s birthday.

He sends a text to Reg in the morning, and they have a long conversation in the afternoon. Mum leaves cake at the table, like she always does. Dad isn’t home, like always. The house is quiet in the evening. No fights.

Sirius heads down to the river anyway.

It’s the first time he goes there when there’s no reason for him to - his head is clear, his chest isn’t aching. He’s simply going, not _escaping._ It feels refreshing, almost.

The scarf is in a bag, draped across his shoulder. Despite weighing almost nothing, the presence of it feels heavy. Sirius’s hand is tight on the leather handle of the bag.

As always, Moony waits for him.

He doesn’t have a book today - just the usual pair of headphones on his head, lying on the grass, with the smallest smile on his face. He doesn’t turn when Sirius approaches, but he does close his eyes and lean his head back just slightly.

Sirius finds he can’t think of anything to say - his throat feels almost swollen with nerves, too tight to produce a sound. He simply takes a seat next to Moony, clutching his bag tightly.

“You’re quiet,” Moony says after a couple minutes, opening an eye to catch a glimpse of Sirius’s expression.

Truth be told, Sirius isn’t sure why he’s this nervous. It’s just a small gift, hardly something that could have disastrous consequences. And yet, the fact that Moony is involved makes it so much more serious in his mind. There’s a part of Sirius that relies on him so heavily now that he wouldn’t be sure what would happen to him if Moony were to leave.

“I- uhm,” Sirius stops himself immediately, and takes a breath. _It’s just him._ “I’ve something for you.”

Moony, carefully, removes the headphones, placing them on the grass next to him. Next, he sits up, watching Sirius with an expression Sirius doesn’t quite understand. Caution, perhaps.

“You have something for me?”

“Yes. A gift, I guess? It’s just- something I made.”

“You-... you made something. For me.”

Sirius nods, letting his eyes wander from Moony to his own shoes. The usual, black bulky boots he always wears, with rainbow laces - he got those for free when back at university. He’s been staring at them a lot lately. They used to be just laces, with no meaning behind them. Nowadays, though… he thinks the lady at campus dressed in all those colours saw something in him he couldn’t name at the time, and gave him those because of that exact thing.

“I-I just… I randomly made it and though… you might like it,” Sirius says, barely out loud.

He takes a big breath and digs the scarf from out of the bag, basically shoving it into Moony’s arms.

“I saw the yarn, a-and I thought of your hair so I bought it and I don’t really know how to make anything else, but it’s getting cold so I thought a scarf would be good anyway and it’s not that I’m really that good, but-”

“You made this,” Moony interrupts him, staring at the woolen scarf in his arms. He turns it. Examines it. Touches it. Rubs it inbetween his fingers. Sirius’s heart is caught in his throat. “I- … I can’t take this.”

“But-”

“You’ve clearly spent a lot of time on it, really, you shouldn’t-”

“It’s my birthday today,” Sirius blurs out on a whim. Moony blinks in surprise, his eyes wide. “And I wanted to give you this ever since I started making it. So even if you hate it just, please take it? You can’t say no to me on my birthday, Moony.”

Once again, there’s confusion setting on his face.

“Moony?”

Sirius’s cheeks heats up in embarrassment. “‘s a nickname. ‘That boy with pink hair from the riverbank’ was a bit too long.”

Silence falls between them. Not a word, not a sound aside the ripples of water gently moving with the wind. Sirius can hear the steady thud of his own heart, drumming along his ribcage. Moony’s eyes keep falling back to the scarf in his hands.

“Mine for you is Padfoot.”

Sirius swallows hard, fighting back a smile of relief - his heart is pounding in his chest now, finally in a good way.

“Why?”

Moony smiles. “For someone so tall and with such heavy boots, you sneak pretty well. I barely notice you sometimes. Why Moony?”

Sirius bites the inside of his cheek, ducking his head down. “The first time I came here- I-I didn’t talk to you yet, but… it was the full moon. And I just- I saw you in the moonlight, and thought… you were meant to be seen like that.”

Sirius swallows heavily, letting out a steady breath to try calm his heart.

“It’s Remus.” Sirius’s head shoots up, frowning his brows. “My name, I mean.”

Sirius’s breath catches in his throat, and he blinks dumbly.

“That’s- it’s lovely,” he manages to stutter out. “I like it.”

“Thanks,” _Remus_ says. He turns his head towards the river, leaning back onto his arms, closing his eyes. Sirius almost thinks there’s a tension to his shoulders, somehow. “I picked it.”

Sirius finds himself confused again, a frown forming on his face. He blinks a few times, and then takes an unexpectedly sharp breath.

_“Oh.”_

Remus merely shrugs, as if it’s nothing. Sirius breathes out, feeling his lips tug into a smile. That means they’re not strangers anymore. They’re friends. Sirius knows his name.

Remus is reaching for his headphones, and Sirius snaps back from his thoughts, remembering he hasn’t said anything, and that might be the worst reaction to such a confession. In a rushed decision, he scoots a bit closer.

“Why that one?”

He turns back to Sirius, one brow slightly raised.

Sirius - as he often does - panics. The unfamiliar setting of the situation makes him feel that wasn’t the right thing to ask.

“I-I mean I like it! I think it suits you but, uhm, I-I just- I-I mean-”

Remus chuckles, shaking his head. “Relax. I just liked it. There really wasn’t much to it. That, and my surname is Lupin. Went with the theme.”

Sirius bites his lip for a second, but he can’t quite contain the smile on his face. _They’re friends._

“My name is Sirius. Sirius Black.”

“Sirius?” Remus barks out a laugh. “‘m sorry, that’s probably rude-”

“Oh no, by all means, do laugh. My family is a bit weird. My brother’s name is Regulus, my middle name is Orion, we also have _a theme_.”

“The stars,” Remus breathes out, glancing up at the sky. “Sirius is a lovely one. The brightest, the boldest.”

Sirius finds his cheeks burning again. He turns his head away from Remus, and also glances at the sky.

“Sirius and Remus. We make quite a pair.”

Sirius smiles.

“That we do.”

Remus lies down on the grass; with him, so does Sirius. They don’t speak anymore - there’s no need to. Sirius feels a pleasant burning in his chest. A warmth he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Sirius?”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.”

Now, Sirius makes a habit of going to the river every day.

It feels right to him. Remus is always there, after all. Sirius doesn’t know why - he doesn’t feel it’s okay to ask. Not yet, at least. Maybe he’s also running away from something. Sirius just feels he needs to be there for him. He doesn’t like the thought of him alone.

He soaks up all the bits and pieces of Remus, all the gently laid out snippets of information about him, as small as they might be. One night it might be his favourite colour. Another night - his mum making his favourite pie. Whatever it is, Sirius likes knowing things about Remus; knowing _Remus._

He learns, and listens, and talks, and smiles when Remus laughs, and makes stupid jokes when Remus seems upset, and hums lullabies when he’s tired.

He feels calm nowadays. Less alone.

“I met someone,” he confesses to Reg one day. It takes just these three words. Perhaps he’s worded it too strangely, but it feels right to him.

“Someone?” Reg replies - Sirius can hear chattering on the other side of the phone. Reg is likely in a cafe, studying. “As in… _someone?_ A girl?”

Sirius takes a breath. _Here goes nothing._ “Someone as in someone, yeah. A guy, though.”

A skip of his heart, two, three. A breath in, then a breath out.

“Well?” Reg says. “Not gonna say anything else? Does he have a name?”

Sirius smiles to himself. This is more than he needs - they’ve never been good at wording what they feel, but they taught themselves to read between the lines. _It’s okay._

“Yeah. His name is Remus.”

“Are you gonna bring him home for Christmas?”

“Ah, no. We’ve not-... he doesn’t know that I, uh… we’re friends.”

“Which isn’t good enough for you.”

“It’s complicated.”

He’s come to realise that his heart and Remus seem to hold a steady connection, both wrapped in the same, golden string.

And yet, every time he tries to say something, _anything_ , the words are caught in his throat. Stuck, with no way of getting them out. Any times he feels he might be close to finally saying it, Remus is there with his smile, or a new confession about his life, or a new book he talks about. And Sirius becomes trapped within a prison of his own making.

He keeps the warm words and daydreams closed in a little chest in his heart, locked with a key and the set of his own ribs. All he can do is wait for the right moment - wait for Remus to reach in and twist the key.

He just yearns, and dreams, and watches. He waits.

It’s early December when Sirius breaks. Right before Reg is scheduled to be home - a clear invitation for Sirius to be judged on every choice he made, every opportunity he’s missed, every mistake and heartbreak and every stupid smuge of paint.

For the first time, Sirius is at the river before Remus.

He lies on the grass, waiting. Breathing. Mind going over every thing his father and mother said today. Over, and over, and over, like a broken record player, each time getting louder, overpowering all noises surrounding it.

Barely after the sun sets, Remus appears. Sirius doesn’t greet him. Doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really know what he could say.

Remus cautiously sits down next to him, headphones already hanging off his neck. Simply staring for a moment. It seems as if it’s their first meeting, but in reverse.

“I used to go to university, you know?” Sirius starts off. He tries - and fails - to mask the emotions in his voice. He’s never been too good at that. “For art and design. It just… seemed like something I would maybe enjoy. And I did. I wanted to have a tattoo parlour one day.”

“What changed?” Remus asks, because of course he does. Sirius’s words are an obvious invitation to a cacophony of emotional baggage he hasn’t had time nor energy to share before. He never likes talking about home. It’s just today, it seems he has to.

“My… my parents talked to me. Or, well… at me. Said my school’s expensive, and I didn’t have a job so my parents were paying for everything. And what would I do with an art degree anyway? And where would I get the cash to leave for New York like I’ve always wanted? My brother has a plan for life that is actually succeeding, and me? I never know what to do. I stumble and quit things and I’m not sure about anything. ‘s what my dad said, anyway. And I dropped out. Shortly after my first year. And I’ve just… been here since.”

He thrived at school. It was a new town, a new environment, full of people who didn’t know him, didn’t know his family. He didn’t have to worry about people approaching him. He didn’t have to worry about rumours about him spreading to his parents. He was unapologetically himself.

He was at his best. He couldn’t find anyone to hire him. He mixed colours with whites and blacks and put woolen jumpers into the laundry. He kept forgetting to cook or do groceries. He didn’t know how to clean an oven, or a toaster, or a stain off a chair. He didn’t know how to keep a balanced diet. He slept with only one pillow and a blanket for a good month. He didn’t go out and partied his freshman year away. Only talked to a few other students. But he felt free. He was _happy._ For once he felt he had a grasp on things, even when it seemed like he didn’t.

His family has an old approach for life, though. Happiness is meaningless if you’re twenty without a job and having mummy and daddy paying for everything. Because it’s not like their family has money to spare, right?

“I don’t talk to them much,” Sirius keeps going. Eyes fixed straight forward, afraid to as much as glance in Remus’s direction. He knows he’s close to crying and that Remus knows he is. But vulnerability has never been his strong suit. “No one talks in my family, besides me ‘nd Reg. Mum and dad just fight. And if we have to talk to them, it’s more like… talking for the sake of politeness. A word about the weather here, about coffee there. Like with a neighbour rather than your own mum and dad.”

Sirius doesn’t like vilifying people. He doesn’t like the word ‘hate’. And he doesn’t think he has a bad home life. And that’s Sirius’s father and mother, people who gave him life, so Sirius feels he owes them respect and good words. They haven’t tried very much at the whole parenting thing, but Sirius has always had a roof over his head and his mother and father work for that. He feels he shouldn’t hate them. There’s guilt in his chest every time he thinks he might.

And yet… he doesn’t feel nice about them. He doesn’t think he loves his mum and dad - he doesn’t even like them. There’s just a void between them, where there should’ve been an actual relationship. It’s as if they’re acquaintances living in the same house.

All his memories are just smells of cigarette smoke, broken alcohol bottles. Tasting tears on his tongue late into the night. Learning to cry with no sound so no one hears. Family holidays that have always felt forced, awkward photos he’s never wanted to have. One or two happy moments that are overshadowed by next day’s miseries. That’s all his parents really are.

“We did talk today, though. Well… they talked. Again. Went up to me in the morning, said I should really find a job, what the hell am I even doing at home? I’m 22 and living with my parents, with no job, no wife or girlfriend, doing nothing. It shouldn't have hit me so hard… but it did. Like… I know I’m not what they wanted in a son. That’s Reg, Reg has all of his life figured out, he’s on a scholarship in France and works part time and talks to people. I wish I was like him. I want to have things figured out, but I don’t know how, life isn’t like that. I don’t know what I’m doing or feeling half the time, I’m all messed up in the head but I don’t want to tell my parents about it cause I know they’ll just tell me I’m making things up cause I have a roof over my head and a supportive family, so I shouldn’t. I don’t feel happy. I haven’t in a while.”

He breathes in sharply, and shuts his mouth tight, afraid he might say a word too much. This isn’t something he’s confessed to anyone before.

Sirius doesn’t even notice Remus is scooting closer to him until there’s a hand on his cheek - wiping tears he didn’t know he even shed.

“I think you’re amazing,” Remus says, his voice barely above a whisper. The most gentle smile rests on his face, and the moonlight reflects in his eyes. “You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever got to meet. You saw a stranger lying at the shore of the river in the middle of the night, and decided to befriend him. You’ve not judged me once, not asked what’s wrong, or why am I here. Not even once. And if your parents don’t see that you’re this sweet, kind person, then they don’t know the real you.”

He reaches with the other hand, and tucks a strand of Sirius’s hair behind his ear.

“You deserve to be happy, first and foremost. Screw what your dad and mum think. If you feel like reaching for something you love, don’t look at what anyone else is thinking. Follow your heart, grab it, and don’t let it go.”

Sirius breathes for just a few seconds, barely a handful of heartbeats, before he pushes himself forward and pulls Remus against him, joining their lips.

Remus pulls back after a moment, only to tilt his head the other way and kiss him again. It’s a gentle brush of lips, nothing more. Just a few small kisses, their hands joined together, Sirius’s tears still wet on his cheeks.

Sirius is breathless. And exhausted. And, strangely enough, he’s never felt better.

He tackles Remus into a hug, forgetting that, since he’s bigger, that means they topple to the ground. Neither of them mind, though - he feels his own chest bubbling with laughter. And, under him, Remus is laughing too.

They lie there for what feels like hours - just laughing, limbs twisted with one another.

Sirius traces his nose along Remus’s face, breathing in his smell, soaking in his laugh. With every new kiss, anxiety eases more and more off his chest, until he feels like it’s all behind him, long forgotten.

Even before, Sirius found comfort in the night. It was undoubtedly his favourite period of time.

Now, though. Now there’s an extra special meaning to it. He anticipates it in the day; he counts down minutes til the sunset, waiting until he can throw on his jacket and run out the door, skip through the town, sit on the fresh grass, breathe in the dark air. Wait for Remus to come to him.

There’s so much joy in simply sitting together, he finds. In just getting to hold Remus as he reads, or hold his hand while they gaze at the night sky. So many small things Sirius didn’t think would make him feel quite as much as they do. It makes the fire in his chest burn with a passion he had no idea was even possible. He feels untouchable, like he’s floating above all his previous issues. He feels like a completely different person.

There’s bubbly anticipation in his stomach as he’s lying on the grass, counting the stars in the sky. He loses count more often than not - his thoughts always go back to Remus.

Now the second he sees Remus approaching from the forest, his heart jumps out of his chest and his mind sings his name over and over, waiting to see and to touch and feel and kiss and hold.

Tonight, Remus sits down next to him, as he always does. But there’s no greeting, or a kiss, or the cheeky smile Sirius had grown to love. Instead, Remus breathes for a moment, as if deep in thought, and then lies down on his stomach, head in his arms.

They don’t speak for several minutes.

Remus tosses a bit, apparently unable to find a comfortable spot. Sirius makes the choice for him - he scoots himself closer, pulls Remus towards him. Remus stills for a second, tense. It goes as soon as it appears, though. Soon enough he relaxes, and lets himself fit into Sirius’s side, head on his chest, tucked into him. Their hands find each other, locking their fingers together.

“Tired?” Sirius asks, as quiet as he can muster, letting his other hand go up to Remus’s head and thread through the messy locks.

Remus hums in response. “My family is in town for Christmas. I hate them.” He buries his face into the crook of Sirius’s neck, breathing in for a little bit. “They don’t know. About… _you know._ It’s exhausting.”

“You don’t want to tell them?”

“I know it wouldn’t end well.”

Sirius nods, breathing out. He knows what it’s like.

Although he doesn’t know for sure, he feels that if he were to mention anything at all to his family, they wouldn’t be happy. Not with him being… himself. His parents already barely tolerate him as it is.

“You ever plan on moving out?”

Remus gives the smallest nod. “There’s this friend I have, he lives in London, his name is James. He’s been telling me to move in with him for ages now. He’s rich, he can pay for the apartment no problem, all that jazz. But- I don’t know why, but it’s so hard to leave.”

“It just feels like you’ve been here so long that there’s no way to leave. Like the trees grew roots around your ankles. The only choice you have is to grow into the ground.”

Remus chuckles; Sirius smiles at the warm sensation it makes him feel.

“Good metaphor there, Shakespeare.”

“I can be poetic if I want.”

“You’re right though,” Remus says, quieter this time. “There is this… invisible chain that keeps you tied. I wish I could get rid of it already.”

“I’m almost glad,” Sirius confesses. “I wouldn’t get to hold you if you left.”

Remus kisses his neck. “You could leave with me.”

Sirius inhales sharply. “I wish I could,” he says, barely out loud.

They fall quiet, listening to the breeze of the cold, December wind. Remus falls asleep. Sirius holds him, looking up at the moon.

As always, they part before sunrise, with kisses and promises and warm smiles. The air feels colder when Sirius goes back home. Colder and colder the closer he gets to Grimmauld Street. It’s as if nature knows this place is just a stupid old house with awful people and bitter memories.

Once Reg arrives for the hols, it gets just a bit warmer inside.

It feels so good to have his brother next to him again, after so many weeks. And to see Reg be happy, too. Infinitely more talkative about so many things he’s learned and teachers and students he hates, and books he bought and antique stores he thinks Sirius would enjoy. With him, and with Remus, Sirius finds that he couldn’t be happier.

It snows on Christmas Eve - for the first time since Sirius had been a little boy. It makes his heart sing, as silly as that sounds. All he can think of is getting to meet Remus tomorrow - in the day, on a proper date. Just a simple meeting for coffee, but it has Sirius’s heart drumming with excitement all day. It makes dinner just bearable enough.

And Christmas dinner is as awkward and painfully dull as usual. There’s far too much food, polite, stiff conversations, talk of grades, weddings, Sirius being a disappointment. Nothing new.

And, over the years, Sirius learned not to talk back. As much as it stings, as much as it hurts sometimes to hear such things from his own parents, he realized it’s better not to say anything at all. Simply smile and nod and agree.

He can’t stop himself tonight. Not when his dad starts talking about independence and marriage and how Sirius is still at home, at age 22.

“You can’t expect any woman to want a man that lives with his parents,” he throws, offhandedly, sipping his stupid red wine from a far too expensive wineglass.

Sirius should know better, and yet he can’t help answering.

“I don’t care for what women want, I don’t _like_ women.”

Mum rolls her eyes on him, as if she’s handling a little boy asking for more candy. “You’re being dramatic. You’ve just not found a woman to be interested in yet, simple as that.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

It’s as if someone had pressed pause and time had stopped.

The clanking of utensils falters, and the conversation dies down in an instant. Someone drops their fork. Every pair of eyes turns to him. His mother chokes on her wine.

“Don’t test me, boy,” dad says, in the cold voice he always has when he’s about to start yelling at mum. “I know you love to be in the center of attention, but this isn’t something to joke about.”

“I’m not joking,” Sirius says, removing all the emotion from his voice. It’s an error, he knows. But he thinks that, perhaps, he’s too tired to care about appearances anymore. “I’m gay.”

It’s as if someone slowed down time. Sirius can see his father’s brows furrow in anger, his eyes turn from cold to fury. If someone slowed time before, now it feels like it’s ten times too fast.

There’s yelling. A lot of it. Screaming left and right, people raging, someone sobbing, too many words thrown right at him. The table is vibrating, glasses are scattering and breaking, people talk over one another. Sirius in the center of it all, as if stuck in the eye of a storm at sea.

He does the first thing that comes to mind. He gets up - toppling his chair as he stands up - ducks past his yelling father and his sobbing mother, and rushes out the door. He doesn’t have his shoes on, doesn’t even have a jacket. He has his phone in his pocket, he thinks - but that’s about it.

He stops running only when he’s actually outside the town. It’s late at night by this point - after ten, his phone tells him. Sirius can see his breath coming out in little puffs in the cold air. It’s snowing, it’s dark, and it’s cold. By the time he reaches the river, he’s shivering.

His phone is buzzing in his pocket, but he doesn’t bother checking it. It’s his mess, his own fault. He knew better, and so he should’ve played it differently. This is for him to deal with and for him to fix.

The dirt is covered in a thin layer of fluffy snow; Sirius doesn’t bother to even shove it out of the way with his hand - he simply sits on the ground, exhausted. He can hear a very small voice in the back of his mind telling him that lying down is a bad idea, but he does that anyway. He ignores the snow already piling on him, on his sweater, his hair, his eyelashes. His fingers already feel numb, so do his feet. His head is throbbing. There’s no emotion in him, though. Nothing. There’s not a thing in his chest beside a dull ache caused by his heart beating too hard. Just a void.

The sky is cloudy today. He can’t even see the stars.

He doesn’t even realize the moment he closes his eyes first. He opens them a moment (a minute? Two, or several?) later, but they close yet again. Same the next time he forces them open. He’s just so tired. The silence rings in his ears and snowflakes seem to be putting him in a trance. It’s like they know what they’re doing, dancing above him in this elaborate choreography, full of swirls and pirouettes. He closes his eyes once more when there seems to be twice as many of them and they all blur together.

His head aches. And Sirius just wants to sleep.

Several sensations hit Sirius all at once.

His body hurts all over, as if there’s bruises covering every single inch of him that there is. His head is throbbing with intensity he’s never felt before. His throat is painfully dry, hurting as if there’s hundreds of little needles in it. His eyelids are heavy, and he feels his hair is untied.

He is warm, though. He doesn’t remember much about where he is - he lastly remembers bits and pieces of Christmas dinner, but he can’t recall going upstairs or getting into bed.

What’s more, he also doesn’t recall taking somebody _with him_ to bed. And yet there’s clearly a presence on his left, holding onto his arm and with their head on his chest. He stirs, just a little bit - the pressure is quite uncomfortable, especially giving his whole body feels as if he’s been run over several times.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then the pressure is gone. Instead, there’s something on his forehead - something brushes away all the hair that was on his face.

“Sirius? You awake, love?”

_Remus._

He opens his eyes - cautiously, first one, and then another. The room is pale, and bright; it makes his headache worse right away. He groans and turns his head.

“Give me a mo’, I’ll draw the blinds, okay?”

Remus’s voice seems strange, but Sirius can’t pinpoint why. Perhaps it’s just the ache in his head that makes him think so.

Once the room is dim, and Remus comes back, Sirius slowly pries his eyes open once more. Only a desk lamp seems to be lighting the room now. Remus is sat on a chair, at Sirius’s bedside - he has that particular soft smile on his face, and a beanie on his head, his hair bushing out at the front of his head in the most adorable way.

“How are you feeling?” he asks in a whisper, and - thankfully - hands Sirius a bottle of water. Sirius drinks all of it in one go. It’s as if he hasn’t drank anything in years.

“Good,” he manages to say, his voice coming out raw and dry. “Hurting. Don’t remember what happened.”

“I found you at the river,” Remus explains, threading their fingers together again. “You had no shoes or a jacket. You passed out in the cold there, I was worried. We’re in hospital right now.”

Sirius draws a sharp breath and tries to sit up - his head immediately makes itself known again, and specks of weird colours appear in front of his eyes.

“Careful,” Remus hisses, jumping to his side. He sits on the bed this time. “You’ve been out for a while, take it easy.”

“I can’t be here- my parents-”

“I know. I got in touch with your brother. He left a few messages for you. I read them. Sorry.”

Sirius slumps down in Remus’s arms. Memories flash back to him. The party, his father, his mother. The stupidly careless things he said. The snow outside.

“‘s fine,” he mumbles.

They’re quiet for a bit, with Remus running his fingers through Sirius’s hair. Sirius notes that he smells of gingerbread cookies today. He did say they’re his favourite, once.

“I go to the river to be alone,” Remus is saying suddenly - his tone is still warm and quiet, and his hand is still busy untangling Sirius’s hair. “I get overwhelmed easily, and I get sad a lot. It’s just… I don’t go out in the day, I hate the noise, the people, just... everything, really. I've always liked being by myself, to the point I never really made any friends. And there's my family, so exhausting sometimes too, it makes me itch on the inside to be home. So I just… I started leaving my house at night. It’s calming, and alone. Being at the river makes me feel easy, and calm, I loved the tranquility, and the serenity. The silence.”

He shifts back a bit, and takes Sirius’s face in his hands. He squishes Sirius’s cheeks just a little bit - it makes Sirius smile.

“And then you came along. I was annoyed at first but- you didn’t judge me. You didn’t ask me anything. You just… you seemed like another someone that needed to escape. Being alone didn’t seem so fun once I learned to be with you.”

Sirius pushes his head slightly so they touch foreheads.

“Live with me,” Remus whispers. “In London. I called James, he said that’s fine. We can just be together there. No families to judge us, no chains or tree roots keeping us anymore. We wouldn’t have to lie anymore.”

Sirius breathes out with a smile - he joins their lips together for a short moment; he can’t help it.

“‘s long as you promise we can get a dog.”

Remus laughs and pulls Sirius into his arms.

“As many as you want.”

Three unspoken words lie on Sirius’s lips.

“This is it,” Sirius says, taking in his surroundings. “The last time we get to be here.”

“We can come back,” Remus replies, sitting down on the grass - just like he did hundreds of times beforehand.

The snow is long gone and melted - the greenery seems greener, the water is calm, the river shines with the sun.

“I know, it’s just… it’s hard to believe we won’t have this anymore.” Sirius goes to sit next to Remus, and breathes in the fresh air. “No more late night meetings.”

“We’ll share a bed, I hardly think we’ll need river escapades,” Remus laughs, leaning back to lie down on the ground. “I never thought I’d get the courage to leave. All it took was one boy with ridiculous boots and too many band t-shirts.”

Sirius lies next to him, then takes Remus’s hand in his. “You’re too hung up on my boots.”

“They make you even taller than you already are, you don’t need that.”

“I can get you a pair.”

“Doubt they’d mix with my style.”

“They’d look great. With that sweater that’s down to pretty much your knees? You’ll steal hearts.”

Remus smiles - a smile brighter than the sun, Sirius thinks.

“I only need to steal one,” he says, quieter. His eyes fall to Sirius’s lips for just a moment. A moment Sirius doesn’t miss. Looking into Remus’s eyes right now, Sirius can’t believe how he’s lived a life without him before. That the love of his life was right there, sat waiting on the riverbank all this time.

“I’m fairly sure that one’s already yours.”


End file.
